


Captain Havelock (and Co.)

by ShyJetNow



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen, Lots of movie references, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, arthur can't make coffee whilst sleepy, gentle martin, you have to read this in their voices or it doesn't work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 17:50:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10972329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyJetNow/pseuds/ShyJetNow
Summary: Planning for the future sometimes leads to better futures.





	Captain Havelock (and Co.)

" _Dexter_."

"Does that count?" Douglas asked, looking over at Martin. "Isn't he supposed to be the  _good guy_?"

"He still kills people," Martin defended, and Douglas shrugged.

"True.  _Hannibal_."

Martin groaned. He'd just watched that one, he should have got it. 

"Oh! Oh! I know! What's that one!  _Murder is Easy_!" Arthur said eagerly, and both Douglas and Martin sighed. 

"No, Arthur, we agreed; one can't use Agatha Christie in 'Telly about Murders'," Martin said, and Arthur groaned.

"Awww -- but that makes it so much harder!"

"Yes, well. That does seem to be the _point_ of the rule," Douglas said, raising an eyebrow.

Arthur grumbled before exclaiming, "Oooh, what about  _Murder on the Orient Express_!"

Martin sighed, but then one struck him. "Oh!  _Endeavour_!" 

"Ah, well _done_ ," Douglas agreed. "Colin Dexter, always excellent."

"Doesn't that have the one chap who looks like Douglas?" Arthur asked, and Martin looked out beyond the controls, suddenly feeling his stomach squirm. So DI Thursday did look a  _bit_ like Martin's First Officer, but what of it? There were no similarities at all. At  _all_. And it wasn't as though he'd ever had the fleeting thought that he could fall asleep after a long flight and perhaps get covered by Douglas' jacket.

For one, it didn't have enough epaulettes. Or so he told himself.

Douglas smirked. "There  _is_  an exceedingly handsome chap in that, yes."

"Only he's married, isn't he," Arthur mused. "So it can't be you, Douglas."

Douglas looked a bit affronted. "What does that mean?"

"Well," Arthur said, "It could have been you, and that would have been  _brilliant_  because then you'd be a pilot  _and_  a detective. But you're divorced again now, and he isn't, so it can't be you."

"Yes, my ill-luck in matrimony does rather ruin my investigative prospects," Douglas agreed, with his regular just-humour-Arthur bonhomie. Martin let his eyes flick over. He sometimes thought Douglas might be a little more upset over the last divorce than he let on, and Martin still felt guilty about it. Perhaps he should have... but he hadn't known, he reminded himself, and gripped the controls again. 

"Skip would be a good detective," Arthur said, "He was just like Miss Marple when the Talisker was gone."

"I was  _not_  like Miss Marple," Martin growled, and in an attempt to steer the conversation to somewhere safe, he said, " _Castle_."

" _Ripper Street_ ," Douglas said, and Arthur commented that he's never heard of  _Castle_. Soon the others were in a conversation over British and American telly shows and which ones Arthur had never heard of, which turned out to be almost everything American. 

Martin took a deep breath, focusing on flying. He had flying. He had GERTI and his Captain's uniform, and could officially put  _Captain Martin Crieff_  on forms (even if they didn't technically need the title, he did it anyway). That was enough, right? It had to be. Everything else wasn't worth trying for. 

Once, when he'd gotten quite drunk off of the leftover alcohol from the students downstairs after a party, he'd realised how it worked: Douglas was good at everything but relationships. Martin was bad at everything but flying. It was like they were opposites in a strange way; Martin was destined to failure at everything but one, and Douglas... well. Martin supposed he should resent him for being so good at everything, but instead Martin just wanted to  _be_  him. It wasn't like Martin had a decent relationship either. It wasn't like the break-up with Teresa had been _bad_. They were still friends, it had just... not worked. And so it wasn't like Martin had much to lose if he became like Douglas, did he?

Although, he'd never trade to be Douglas. Not if it meant he was a First Officer. He'd worked too hard to be Captain. 

"Martin? Martin?  _Earth_  to the  _Supreme Commander_ ," Douglas was saying, and Martin looked up guiltily. 

"Yes! Ah, yes, I mean,  _yes_. What is it?" he stuttered out, and Douglas gave him a look for a moment, wondering what had thrown him off. 

"Coffee," Douglas said, holding out a cup of Arthur-drink to Martin. "Arthur said you looked sleepy. He decided he was sleepy as well, but made you coffee before he went to make himself a bed in the cabin. I wish you luck."

"Luck?" Martin asked, and then took a sip of it. "Augh, god, that's worse than usual."

"Thus the luck," Douglas agreed. "Do you think you'll survive?"

"Barely," Martin said, making a face and setting it on his non-dominant side so he wouldn't reach for it without thinking.

"Where were you?" Douglas asked, checking a few of the instruments. Martin watched, a little annoyed that Douglas was like that -- he just checked his plane on instinct. Martin had set alarms on his phone the first few  _real_  flights he'd had, to remind himself to check the gauges every so often. 

"Ah, just thinking. I don't actually watch that many telly shows," Martin said, and Douglas gave him a look. Martin flushed. All right, so there was the occasional bit of film if he could find a show with planes in it. Martin had found himself well-versed on the World Wars because of the planes, and then  _Endeavour_  had shown as "recommended", and he'd been drawn in. 

"Really? I can't quite see that," Douglas said, calling him out, and Martin's stomach sank, but then Douglas said, "I found myself re-watching the  _Mummy_  the other night, just for Captain Havelock."

Martin's head shot up. "The modified Stampe Sierra-Victor-Four-Alpha," he breathed, eyes wide, and Douglas chuckled.

"The very same. I rather think that would have been me, in the situation," he mused. "Going down in a blaze of glory."

Martin swallowed. "I'd rather you didn't," he said, staring at the clouds ahead. "Seeing as I can't fly a plane by myself."

There was a long pause, and then Douglas snorted. "Really, Martin, I think we'd best face it. You'd be in the plane with me."

Martin looked up. "Would I?" he asked, and Douglas nodded.

"Of course. Who else is going to empathise about our glory days once they're over? There are no other pilots in this airdot to drink with. We'd end up in the middle of nowhere, and take a gander at having one last flight."

"You don't drink," Martin said, bewildered, and Douglas shrugged.

"I'll have my sparkling cider, you'll have a beer -- I'm sure we'll work that out."

Martin paused, knowing he was pink all over his face. Douglas assumed they would stay in touch when they were old and retired, and reminisce about -- "What are we going to do, mention how we survived  _Surprising Rice_?" he asked, and Douglas began to chuckle.

" _Just_  as brave as manning the trenches," he said, and Martin couldn't help laughing himself. 

"Veterans of The Great Douz Airfield Standoff," he agreed, and Douglas's chuckle turned to a low rumble of laughter. 

"Outlasted the Xinzhou Blizzard." 

"Survived the Year 2000!" Martin squeaked because he was laughing hard enough his voice wouldn't come out any other way, and Douglas' rumble turned into a roar as he laughed hard enough that his face went red, wiping his eyes. For a moment neither man could gather enough breath to talk, and when one of them did, it was only to gasp something along the lines of, "Witnesses to the Battle of Kieran," and they'd both go off again. 

Eventually, Martin wore himself out and leant back in his seat, breathing. " _Do_  you think we will, though? Meet up, I mean," he asked, considering. It sounded nice; reminiscing with a mate about old times. God knew he'd never had that before. 

"I don't see why not, it's not like either of us have much else to do," Douglas replied fondly. Or at least, Martin thought it was fond. Was it fond? He tapped a nervous Morse into his chair with his fingers, considering it for a long while as Douglas caught his breath. 

"Tell you what," he said. "I'll retire first, you know, and you'll go on to become a Captain at some bigger and better because Carolyn won't keep this up forever, and by that time you'll have enough experience  _anyone_  would take you. Managing  _Arthur_  would give anyone's CV a step up. And every so often, promise you'll check in on your old First Officer and tell me about what you've done."

Martin looked up. "Retire," he said because that was where he'd stopped listening, and Douglas looked back, face creased. 

"Yes, of course. I can't fly  _forever_ , Martin," he said, and Martin swallowed because he suddenly realised he'd never thought of that. He didn't know what his face was doing, and Douglas hit the stabiliser, allowing him to control the plane with his knee (against regulation, Martin should stop him, he'd told him before that wasn't what stabilisers were  _for_ ) before turning to take his hands.

They were shaking, and Martin stared down at them instead of looking at Douglas, and then Douglas said gently, "Martin. You'll be fine. You don't need an old boy like  _me_  tagging along in your future."

Martin shook his head, throat tight. 

"Oh, come on," Douglas said, trying to sound exasperated, but instead he was coaxing, and Martin swallowed and looked up. Douglas' face did something complex, and he sighed, and muttered, "All right, damn you." 

Martin blinked, because Douglas, despite the swearing, had pulled him closer. Part of Martin's cheek was smushed on three epaulettes on Douglas' shoulder. This situation was shocking for two -- no, three reasons. One, Martin was being  _held_.  He couldn't recall the last time he'd been held, except by his brother, and that was hardly pleasant. Two, he had his face crushed to only three epaulettes and he didn't mind. Three... it was all actually quite nice. He relaxed a little, and Douglas muttered, "It says  _something_  about the two of us if we end up being the only person the other one relies on."

That was one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to Martin. Of course, it wasn't news at all that he relied on Douglas. Everybody relied on Douglas. Relying on Douglas had become the unspoken rule of MJN ever since Arthur pointed out that it was the only  _sensible_  way to go about doing things. But Douglas relying on Martin...

"Do you?" he asked, confirming he heard right, and Douglas chuckled slightly, and Martin could hear it through the way his ear was smashed into Douglas' shoulder. 

"Of  _course_  I do, Martin, don't be ridiculous," he said, and Martin melted a little bit despite himself, but Douglas didn't seem to mind the extra weight. "So I'm expecting you to keep me updated when you go out and start flying, I don't know, fighter planes."

"Don't want to fly those. Just passenger jets. I don't like the military uniforms," Martin mumbled, and Douglas chuckled again, but Martin didn't feel like it was mocking.

"Fair enough," Douglas said, and Martin swallowed. Eventually, Douglas let go of him and Martin sat up, and to cover the burning redness on his cheeks he checked every instrument before adjusting the controls. It took a solid minute and a half, and then he looked over at Douglas.

Douglas was still watching him, and Martin went still. Douglas looked quiet in a way that Martin hadn't seen before, and it made Martin flush all over again. "So, is it a deal?" Douglas asked, and Martin blinked. "You'll visit me later on," Douglas expounded, and Martin swallowed. 

"Yes, yes, I -- I will. I will," he said, looking down at the controls, and back up. 

"Good," Douglas said quietly. "In that case, I'll make sure there's a room for you at my place. In fact, you might as well take it now if you want it, considering no-one else is using it." 

Martin blinked twice, brain going white, and managed to stutter out, "I -- I -- I -- I'll think about it, sure, yes, fine, I mean -- Yes. I want it."

Douglas chuckled, his smile reaching his eyes. "Moving will be a bit of a pain, but luckily," he said, turning back to the controls, "I know a man with a van."


End file.
